


Here Comes The Rain Again (Falling On My Head Like A New Emotion)

by callmedok



Series: Brütal Legend Zine Submissions [1]
Category: Brütal Legend
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hive Mind, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mostly Gen, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-06 23:25:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17354621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmedok/pseuds/callmedok
Summary: A Bride feels very lonely indeed since the Doom's untimely end, and a strange traveler offers a listening ear.One of two submissions for the Brütal Legend Zine, 2018.





	Here Comes The Rain Again (Falling On My Head Like A New Emotion)

**Author's Note:**

> The theme for the Brütal Legend Zine was cross-faction friendship, and this is where my love of Brides began. The running joke I now have for them is that most are named after flowers, because Ama is short for Amaryllis while the Bride in my other submission is Dahlia.
> 
> Title comes from Here Comes The Rain Again by the Eurythmics, which lent itself to the accidental shipping of KM and a Bride.

Everything’s wrong.

The Sea is a quiet murmur in the back of her head, where her Queen’s voice once rang. The hivemind is so quiet and still, so _empty_ since the connection snapped, and it feels like part of her is missing. Like she’ll collapse at the merest breeze, completely unravel like a thread plucked from her veil. Crumble like one of the gravestones nearby, as the grief consumes her entire train of thought

It’s as she’s mourning this loss that the man walks up, her umbrella cast aside in a moment of unbearable anger and the cloud overhead soaking her to the bone.

For a fleeting moment, hearing booted steps on the cobblestones, hope blossoms in her chest. It’s one of the diggers come to freshen their skills, one of the Ratguts come to find a new gaggle of their children. But the voice, oh sweet Aeutulia Mother of Tears, is what sends her hope plummeting like a stricken bird. There’s no whispering sighs, no death knell rumbles, not even the sharp airy giggles that so soothed her being. It’s one of _Them,_ the ones who stole their Queen away.

“Hey now, what’s all this about? Thought you lot weren’t big on crying.” The man comments, and when she manages to look at him he’s tilting up a wide-brimmed hat of some kind. The light reflects off his sunglasses in shades of blue, his mouth turned down in a frown with a thick mustache hiding it. He’s unlike anyone she’s ever seen before, and it just makes her cry even harder as she buries her face in her hands again.

There’s a quiet huff, followed by a foreign curse of “Oh, fuckin’ Ormagoden’s ribs-“, and there’s footsteps coming closer. When he sits nearby heat radiates off him, disgusting in the way it leaches into everything, all but unbearable. She risks a glance between skeletal fingers though, and he’s not even looking at her. He’s cupping a hand to shade a cigarette from the rain, the lighter in his hand has a flickering orange flame instead of the blue she so adored. Perhaps that was the one thing remotely right about this man, the fact his lighter flickered and sputtered just like a grave digger’s own.

And against all odds he looks up right then, his glasses slipping down slightly, and there’s a flash of comforting blue as their eyes meet.

“Y’want one of these or nah?” He offers, words faintly mumbled as he doesn’t remove the cigarette from his mouth, pushing his glasses back into place. She shakes her head falteringly, hesitantly, in equal measures wanting him to leave and wanting him to stay. She just wants anyone, someone here, when it’s been so long with no one, but he-

He’s one of them who took away their Queen, and left this gaping wound behind, that even now makes her want to cry and scream and rage and collapse into nothingness. Anything to wash away this pain.

He lets out a grunt of acknowledgment, and takes a long slow drag of his cigarette. When he exhales, it looks more like the last breath of a dying man rather than smoke. “Met some of your kind, since it ended.” He states suddenly, taking in the crumbling angel standing guard over some upturned grave. “Some of the, what y’call ‘em, diggers, they smoke. S’digger thing, or not your thing?”

The questions makes her startle, the sheer ease with which it’s asked, and- Others, he mentioned others, and diggers no less, but… they were gone, won’t they? Cut off, separated, how could they possibly even _stand_ being so far from the Sea? Sometimes it felt only those sweet whispers kept her tethered to the very earth itself.

Her voice is raspy from disuse, from screaming out her rage, when she replies “Not-not my thing,” and the strange man doesn’t even bother to hide his faint smile at the response.

“Ah, she speaks!” He states, accompanying it with a sweeping gesture of the hand holding a cigarette as if it’s some grand revelation he’s shared. She can’t help the slight giggle that escapes at the ridiculousness of it, only to clap a hand over her mouth in shock. It- it feels wrong to laugh, when such tragedy still hangs over the Doom.

“Now _that,_ ” He begins, jabbing his cigarette in her direction, “sounds like something y’needed. What’s your name, Miss Laughs?”

“…Ama,” She offers after a moment of hesitance, because he didn’t have to linger this long, risk his life on a whim. The rain has slowed to a lazy drizzle since the first boot step, and even with all her tears this has been one of the few times where she’s felt even a glimmer of her past self. The first time she’s felt even a thread of comfort, in the dark days since their Queen’s demise.

(It’s the first time she treats this state as permanent rather than temporary, the absence in both her heart and her head, and there’s bitterness on her tongue but the weight on her chest finally lifts with that choice.)

He tips his hat to her, a brief tug of the brim downwards that looks like second-nature on him, and replies with a lazy smile, “Nice t’meet you, Miss Ama. Name’s Kill Master, but friends can call me Lem.”

Looking back on it weeks later, Ama won’t be able to place how long they talked, or even what about if pushed. Won’t be able to say why she let it happen, why she kept letting it happen, week after week. Oh, the other Doom would be disappointed in her if they were still around, despair that she didn’t take the opportunities to strike out at the healer of their enemies. But…

She’s starting to soften around the edges, smiles and laughter no longer something alien to be feared, and she _likes_ it. She likes the way they can walk together, be it in the blue-gray gloom of the graveyards, or the harsh sun and rustling grass of the slopes near Thunderhorn. How conversation flow like the tide, with steady moments of quiet that feel something close to peaceful. She likes the way he smiles sometimes, when their fingers brush. Hesitant maybe, small and tentative, but it leaves something in her chest fluttering nonetheless.

Perhaps the Doom has fractured and fallen to pieces, the center unable to hold without its heart. Perhaps she still mourns the woman who brought them together, far too willing to hide from sight when there’s the sound of the Roadie’s engine and a painfully familiar laugh. But she’s finally found a place to belong, as she tangles her phalanges and metacarpals with Kill Master’s fingers in a burst of confidence.

She’s found a place for her heart, and when she meets his eyes again, he reaches up and takes off his aviators. Hangs them from a front pocket on his shirt, and their steps don’t falter for even a second.

His eyes are still a freezing blue, but she’s never met anyone who’s been so warm.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, you can check out the rest of the zine [here!](https://www.dropbox.com/s/041uj23md9ghe5o/Br%C3%BCtal%20Legend_Zine.pdf?dl=0) Completely free to download, costs no money, and was honestly a labor of love by a bunch of fans. I thought it was about time to ring in the new year with adding my own submissions to AO3, so I hope folks enjoy them!


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